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meichenxi · 17 days

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languages, travel, identity, grief

Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.

I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.

That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.

I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.

And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.

I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.

And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.

But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.

There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!

And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.

So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.

You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.

I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.

It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.

And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.

It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.

Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.

#langblr #chinese #languages #culture #china #:(((((((((((

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hobiebrownismygod · 5 months

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Let's talk about Desi representation again!!

I don't talk about this stuff often but when I do, I have some strong ass opinions

and yes I'm gonna be talking about none other than Pavitr Prabhakar at the end cuz he's just special to me <3

Hollywood is lagging behind on Desi representation

You'd think one of the biggest film industries in the world would be able to represent us properly, considering the fact that we make up the largest group of South-Asian Americans and the second largest group of Asian-Americans in the US, but instead-

Western Television forces Indians to conform to harmful stereotypes

Some of the most popular Desi characters on screen are Raj Koothrappali from the Big Bang Theory, Devi Vishwakumar from Never Have I Ever and Kelly Kapoor from the Office.

Indian men are almost always portrayed as robotics engineers and computer whizzes, but with terrible social intellect, making them seem like awkward nerds.

Indian women are almost always portrayed as "whitewashed", or wanting to appear more western, with zero understanding of their own culture or language along with an unrelenting need for attention from white friends/colleagues.

These are both based on stereotypes that Indian culture is "toxic" and "too traditional" and that Indians are only interested in studies.

Most Desi characters in western media have stories that are solely based around their ethnicity and/or racial stereotypes.

British television actually showcases a lot more representation than Hollywood does

I was watching Polite Society, a movie starring two Pakistani characters as the main leads, and there was a dance scene where both the leads are wearing traditional desi attire. My mom turned over, looked at me, and asked, "Is this Hollywood? It can't be."

And she was right. It's a British movie with British-Pakistani actors.

The reason she didn't believe that it could've been Hollywood was because the dresses the two leads were wearing were traditional and beautiful and the song playing in the background was authentic Hindi music, not some random westernized DJ version of it.

A Hollywood movie would've never dressed up their Desi actors in actually flattering attire (*cough cough the Patel twins from Harry Potter) or have used real, popular Desi music in the background.

You see my point?

It is so uncommon to see well-thought-out Desi representation in TV nowadays, where to see real diversity we have to watch movies made by the same country that colonized us.

Ironic.

British movies/shows with desi leads have far better South Asian representation than anything I've seen in Hollywood recently.

The Hollywood movies starring Indian leads, like Slumdog Millionaire or Bend it like Beckham were filmed in the UK, and because they were filmed in the UK, they had fantastic South Asian representation.

Not only does Hollywood refuse to create shows and movies about real problems that South Asians face, but they also don't cast South Asian actors in good roles.

When's the last time you saw a South Asian actor playing a character that wasn't a walking stereotype? When's the last time you saw a South Asian actor playing a character that was a genuine part of the story rather than just comedic relief or a random smart kid in the classroom?

Not often, right?

Me, personally, I didn't grow up with a lot of South Asian characters or actors in shows/movies that I watched. In fact, every time someone even close to my skin color showed up on TV, I was on the edge of my seat because it was just so rare to see it.

This is why representation matters.

You've heard about all the young girls with braids being so excited when the new little mermaid with Halle Bailey came out. Well, us desi kids wanted that too.

I wanted to see a Telugu speaking girl with wavy hair and dark skin who would wear traditional clothing to Desi get-togethers and parties, go to the temple with her family, eat vegetarian Indian meals, etc...

I wanted to see a character who was a representation of me and my experiences as an Indian-American. I wanted to see a character that was at least a representation of Indians or just South Asians in general.

Instead, we were given characters that ridiculed their own culture, were extreme stereotypes and furthered the existence of casual racism in western society today. So many Desi kids experience small acts of racism on a daily basis because people have been so desensitized to the existence of these stereotypes.

Telling South Asians that their culture is a joke and feeding non-asian children media which pokes fun at other cultures is harmful, not only to us South Asians but also communities that could end up being targeted next.

Pavitr Prabhakar; Representation Matters

If you've been following me or if we're mutuals, you probably know I have a tiny obsession with Pavitr Prabhakar. But why?

Because of all the reasons I just listed.

There are few South Asian characters us Desis can look up to these days, and Pavitr Prabhakar is one of the maybe two or three characters who have great writing, magnificent representation, and overall a fun vibe.

He's likable, funny, smart and best of all, unapologetically Desi.

He's just like all the other side characters, with a little bit of his own culture mixed in. He's not being shoved down our throats to further an agenda about fake diversity, he's not a walking stereotype and best of all, he was designed by Indian creators.

He's refreshing and exciting to follow in a world full of a demand for half-hearted representations and the people who created him were obviously putting their hearts and souls into it.

He's awoken a love for Indian culture amongst, not only Desi children themselves but also among westerners who, prior to this, had thought of India as a "3rd world" country, because that's the agenda that Hollywood pushes onto many South Asian countries today.

WE LOVE PAVITR PRABHAKAR!!

This was kinda all over the place but I just had to get this off my chest <3

Sources:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2021/06/10/discrimination-against-indian-americans-happens-more-than-you-might-think/

#for all the brown kids that never got to see a character that looked like them growing up #desi representation #desi writers #desiblr #desi tumblr #desi tag #desi culture #indian representation #pavitr #pavitr prabhakar #atsv pavitr #spiderverse pavitr #pavitr my beloved #astv #across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #pavitr Prabhakar

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too-many-rooks · 23 days

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42 Reverdy Road, The Rider Household.

Can be found on the gallery under '42 Reverdy Road' ID: rebecca707

Some things about the house that occurred to me whilst building this, under a read more to restrain my ramblings.

General background first;

This is the end of a row of pretty classic English Victorian terrace houses, these are the sort of buildings I've lived in most of my adult life in the UK, and if you ever take the Thameslink south of the river in London you'll see tons of houses like this; especially with the modern extension with skylights and large sliding doors on the back.

They film Alex's neighbourhood in Bermondsey, which is not quite as affluent an area as Chelsea, (because, honestly, would be wild if Alex actually lived in Chelsea) but is still definitely quite wealthy, houses like this one in this neighbourhood would sell for upwards of a £1M in the current market.

Onto design choices for the build;

The downstairs is fairly open plan, and In the show we see several scenes that more or less show the whole thing, so I tried to replicate it as accurately as I could. In the lounge, it looks like there's a desk in the back corner, and since we see Ian has an office, and Alex has a desk in his room, I thought maybe this was for Jack to study, so in the build I added some case files for her to be reading. Also, I added bikes for Ian and Alex and put them under the stairs.

I found the upstairs really tricky - we only see Alex's room, and a brief look at the hallway outside his room, which seemed to lead to more rooms, and the stairs. This made me think he was at the back of the house, as most terraces taper at the back for access to the garden. Also, the window seems to line up with a window we see on the upstairs floor in an exterior shot of the kitchen. I feel especially proud of Alex's room - I think it gets the vibe of slightly messy but active high achiever - there's a certificate by his front door in Hebrew (presumably a Krav Maga thing), so I added lots of rosettes and medals and certificates. He's also got a row of hooks above his bed with like a snorkel, and climbing rope, so I used some of the snowboarding stuff to replicate that, and gave him a desk full of hobby items for boy scout spy crafting.

Jack's room was total conjecture, and also a bit of a challenge, since I don't feel I have a sense for her aesthetic taste in furniture, I tried to think what her room would be like considering she's lived there for presumably most of her early twenties, but this also being not her house/not her family/not permanent. I definitely think it would be nice, and comfortable, and personalised to a certain extent. So I gave her some kinda Ikea-ish furniture, and decorated it with small, movable clutter, and posters, pictures, and tapestries, tapped and blue tacked to the wall rather than nailed in.

Ian's bit was also a challenge, despite being the other room upstairs that we see. His office is categorically in the wrong place, the entry door should be on a different wall. Conceivably, it should be where I put Ian's en-suite, and there's a little corridor leading there, but I couldn't make that work without squishing everything together too much. So I put it in the modern bit, thinking that Ian might have built in some extra protection when doing the extension to add more security to what might be like the 'spy hub' in the house. We also see that there's another door inside Ian's study - for the level of privacy that room would need, it only really made sense to me for that door to lead to his bedroom, which also shows how he never really gets away from his work, when he sleeps right next to his study. So I gave him this kind of self-contained suite of rooms, which makes him somewhat shut off and isolated from the others. Considering how immediately Jack complies with a request for a moment of privacy when Ian is in his office, I imagine there's some pretty deeply ingrained house rules about disturbing Ian's office for 'confidential banking reasons', which makes him harder to access when he's in his bedroom. Also, Jack and Alex share a bathroom, but Ian has an en-suite. His bedroom is nice but bland, with a few souvenirs of his travels and a rack of monochrome clothing for his grey casual wear, and his bathroom is modern and dark, with some medical supplies by the sink for patching himself up after a mission.

The garden, on reflection, is a bit chaotic - I think it should actually be larger, and have a little shed. But what we see of it in Season 3 is different to season 1, it's smaller, more enclosed, and has some pretty high walls all around. I wasn't sure which way to go so left it fairly blank, with space for the wheelie bins round the side, a little patio, some grass, a drying line, and a football. The chaotic bit comes from the bbq I gave them in the corner which, looking at the photos, my Rider Sims must have managed to set on fire and burn immediately. Oh and also to make Ian Alex's uncle in CAS I had to make a John to be Ian's brother and Alex's father, so I Immediately killed him and put his headstone in a corner of the garden, so they can all be haunted by John's ghost. Neato!

#alex rider #wow the powers of hyperfixation. If only I could use this level of concentration dedication and focus for good #Alas it can only be used for dumb shit #sims 4

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rowanwillow06 · 3 months

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I have a lot of work to do in order to get into my dream uni so I thought I’d start a study blog! Just for like my own motivation and maybe to find more people who are in the same boat as me. Also it would be nice to have a diary of sorts :333

I am currently studying:

~ A-level Politics

~ A-level English literature

~ A-level Film studies

Have a good week!!!

<33333333

#studyblr #study motivation #study blog #study aesthetic #a levels #university #uk #english literature #literature #books and reading #politics #film studies #study notes

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themidnightarcher · 7 months

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❛ ♡ INTRODUCTION POST ☕ ୧

↳ જ⁀➴ 🏹 ｡˚ “i want to do something splendid before i go into my castle--something heroic, or wonderful--that won't be forgotten after i'm dead. i don't know what, but i'm on the watch for it, and mean to astonish you all, some day. i think i shall write books, and get rich and famous; that would suit me, so that is my favorite dream.” — JO MARCH, LITTLE WOMEN <33 (my absolute beloved!!)

❝𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋, 𝐒𝐎 𝐈 𝐆��𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋❞

││↳ 🖇️ ⵌ . HI HELLO!! welcome to my page, i'm fatmata, 14 and a hopeless romantic - this is my blog (aka daily dose of cats, coffee and cynicism) but honestly you can consider this as my personal messy online diary which mostly consists of casual brainrots, miscellaneous shit, random incoherent thoughts or rambles, angry rants, online oversharing or any current hyperfixations or obsessions i have at the moment!! <33 my brain is chaotic and always seems to be all over the place (sorry for your sanity). i'm also INCREDIBLY self-indulgent, sentimental, full of suppressed rage and can become unhealthily attached to fictional characters so yeah that's that :)) 📄

│╰─────────── · · · ──────────

╰┈➤ [BASIC INFO] -> black • 🇸🇱/🇬🇧 • UK • 14 • student • INFJ, 8w7 • scorpio sun/moon • virgo rising • slytherin • casual swiftie • major coffee addict (me 🤝 lorelai & rory over being insane over coffee) • PROUD FEMINIST • avid reader • insomniac • CAT LOVER • sunset & sunrise enjoyer • autumn/spring stan • philosopher at heart • major english & history lover • middle child • team conrad • lalala girlie <33 (methinks) • horror movie enthusiast • HARDCORE MUSIC JUNKIE • replay the 'this is me trying' bridge more than the average person should 🤷‍♀️ • olivia rodrigo supporter • self-diagnosed pinterest whore • legally married to spotify • fashionista & lipgloss lover • certified rockstar gf • red nails enthusiast • midnights & rep girlie!! • BRATZ & MONSTER HIGH >>> • stationary shops adorer • freddie mcclair apologist FIRST, human second ♡ • probably (NO DEFINITELY) mentally unstable? • professional perfectionist, overthinker & teenage girl-er 24/7 • burnt out workaholic • suffer from an EXTREME case of gifted kid burnout, exam anxiety & identity crisis (so hey that's super fun!!)

╰┈➤ [MAJOR INTERESTS/HOBBIES] -> true crime ➝ listening to music ➝ reading ➝ playlist-making ➝ sociology ➝ media/character analysis ➝ english literature ➝ greek mythology ➝ dancing ➝ reading ➝ playing video games ➝ defending my beloved characters ➝ deep intellectual conversations ➝ watching greta gerwig films ➝ arts & crafts ➝ FASHION ➝ sleeping ALL day ➝ online shopping but never actually buying anything? ➝ researching random shit on the internet ➝ photography ➝ skincare ➝ crocheting ➝ cooking & baking ➝ studying ➝ writing in planners/organising journals ➝ going to stationary stores ➝ board games ➝ girlblogging ➝ maladaptive daydreaming ➝ scrolling on pinterest/tumblr for unhealthy amounts of time ➝ making moodboards ➝ etc. (but i also DESPERATELY want to learn the electric guitar because it's like the best instrument to ever exist?!)

my beloved freffy (bottom right corner) ILY TO DEATH, you deserved BETTER *sobbing while enraged*

╰┈➤ 🎧 [ARTISTS] -> taylor swift (OBVIOUSLY), lana del rey, olivia rodrigo, gracie abrams, conan gray, sabrina carpenter, beabadoobee, maisie peters, mitski, cigarettes after sex, sza, the weeknd, beyonce, kanye west, reneé rapp, ABBA, melanie martinez, tv girl, marina, doja cat, the smiths, queen, nirvana, rihanna, ariana grande, tyler the creator, adele, lorde, mac demarco, phoebe bridgers, avril lavinge, boygenius, laufey, suki waterhouse, fiona apple, clairo, billie eilish, madison beer, tate mcrae, steve lacy, kali uchis, girl in red, lizzy mcalpine, arctic monkeys, radiohead, mazzy star, coldplay, ricky montgomery, harry styles, chase atlantic, the neighborhood, roar, alex g, pinkpantheress & more!!

╰┈➤ 📖 [BOOKS] -> (ok so one thing you should understand is that i've never actually read half of these before but ANYWHO these are books i'm hoping to read in the late future so i guess they still count?? so consider this as my reading list. i'll cross them out once i've finished them!!)

╰┈➤ 🎬 [TV SHOWS/FILM] -> skins, gilmore girls, bridgerton, derry girls, ladybird, little women (2019), tsitp, barbie (2023), anne with an e, twilight, stand by me (1986), the breakfast club (1985) the edge of seventeen, boyz n the hood (1991), red white and royal blue, ten things i hate about you, thirteen (2003), girl interrupted, thg, gossip girl, heartstopper, clueless, legally blonde, [2000s chic rom-com teen girlie movies have me in a severe life-threatening chokehold, send help], outerbanks, never have i ever, sex education, etc. and MANY MORE 🫶🏾🫶🏾

╰┈➤ [+ CHARACTERS] -> JO MARCH, hermione granger, edward cullen, pippa fitz-amobi, ravi singh, rory gilmore, lorelai gilmore, lane kim, anne shirley, mulan, katniss everdeen, peeta mellark, freddie mcclair, effy stonem, cam cameron, devi vishwakumar, nadine franklin, nick nelson, allison reynolds, kat stratford, max mayfield, tracy freeland, conrad fisher, liz buxbaum, wes bennet, peter parker, alex claremont-diaz, georgia nicholson, sidney prescott + MUCH MORE

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THE FULL HISTORY OF THE MICK JAGGER & MARSHA HUNT (A.K.A. “BROWN SUGAR”) RELATIONSHIP!!! (PART 1)

First, some background on the model, singer, actress, novelist, playwright, activist, icon, 60s goddess, and the woman who inspired one of The Rolling Stones’ greatest hits, “Brown Sugar”, Marsha Hunt. She is often described as London’s own Josephine Baker and is celebrating her 77th birthday today!:

Marsha A. Hunt was born on April 15, 1946 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and is the youngest of 3 children. Her mother, Inez “Ikey” Hunt, worked in an airplane factory during World War II, and her father, Blair Hunt Jr. graduated from Harvard and became one of America's first Black psychiatrists.

Marsha was raised in a middle-class neighborhood mostly by her mother, aunt, and grandmother who had roots in the deep south (Mississippi delta) and who she’s described as an “extremely aggressive and ass-kicking independent woman.” Her father committed suicide when Marsha was 9 years old (but she never found out how or why).

After moving out west to California with her family, she graduated high school at the top of her class and later attended UC, Berkeley in the mid-’60s where she wanted to study psychological anthropology.

While at Berkeley, she became friends with a slew of interesting people like activist Mario Savio and Huey P. Newton, who later became one of the founders of the Black Panther Party.

[TOP LEFT: Marsha’s mother Inez Hunt; TOP RIGHT: Marsha’s father, Blair Hunt Jr.; BOTTOM LEFT: Marsha at her home in Philly with her father & siblings, Pamala & Dennis; BOTTOM RIGHT: Marsha’s high school graduation photo in 1964.]

Even though she thrived academically and was very involved in student activities, she became bored with college life and wanted to experience life outside of the country and pursue her real passion – music. In early 1966, she sold her car and some books, and trailed off to London with only $1.83 in her pocket.

Around that time, London was THE city to be in, and was even dubbed “Swinging London” for being the epicenter of art, culture, fashion and of course music, especially due to the popularity of famous acts like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones.

When Marsha first arrived, she slept on the floors of mutual friends, took odd jobs (including one as an au pair), and even appeared as an extra in Michelangelo Antonioni's box office hit film, “Blow-Up,” which also featured the British rock band, The Yardbirds.

SHOCKINGLY, in that same year she actually saw The Rolling Stones in concert for the first time during their UK tour at the Royal Albert Hall in London because she wanted to see Ike & Tina who were the supporting act on the bill. Girls were going crazy over the Stones, but of course, she was more impressed by Tina’s show-stopping performance! (Purrrrr 💅🏿)

[LEFT: Marsha in 1966; RIGHT: The Rolling Stones performing at the Royal Albert Hall in London with Marsha in attendance.]

After roaming the city, making new friends, and trying to find steady work, Marsha ended up auditioning for a blues band fronted by British blues musician, Alexis Korner, who was looking for backup singers. Coincidentally, he was the exact same guy who gave The Rolling Stones their start back in 1962. Later on, she was offered another backing gig for Long John Baldry’s band, Bluesology. John is also a longtime friend of The Beatles and The Rolling Stones.

Though she loved music and worked really hard at it, Marsha always claimed that she was never a good singer. People in England just assumed she was because they thought all Black Americans had talent.

She then lived with English blues singer, John Mayall, who actually wrote a few songs about her including, “Marsha’s Mood” and another song coincidentally called “Brown Sugar”. Around this time, she became good friends with the founding members of Fleetwood Mac, famed British artist Kaffe Fassett, and keyboard player for Bluesology, Reg Dwight (a.k.a Elton John).

[LEFT: 19 year old Marsha sporting a wig in London; RIGHT: Marsha with a young Elton John].

Around the time Marsha broke things off with John, he was also putting a new band together, which included a young guitarist named Mick Taylor, who showed up at the audition without a guitar. He later became another good friend of Marsha’s.

In late 1966, Marsha met musician Mike Ratledge from the British rock band, Soft Machine. At the time, she was having trouble getting a visa extension to stay in England, so the two got married on her 21st birthday. She later claimed it was a marriage in name only as they were not romantically involved and “never held hands and never kissed".

[LEFT: Guitarist Mick Taylor & John Mayall in the mid-60s; RIGHT: Marsha’s “husband” Mike Ratledge of Soft Machine.]

That same year, Marsha’s hair started to fall out from using chemical relaxers, and after wearing wigs for a while, she finally cut it all off and vowed to never straighten it again. Hence, why she started sporting her iconic afro hairstyle which made her quite a showstopper in London.

In 1968, she found luck when she was cast in a buzzy new rock musical with an ensemble cast called “Hair.” The musical became an instant hit in London’s famed West End. And even though her character “Dionne” only had two lines, she suddenly became the face (or the hair) of “Hair”. The show was a huge success, and also became quite a sensation and a social landmark because it highlighted controversial subjects like drugs, casual sex, profanity, nudity, and anti-war rhetoric. While there, she met another close friend, actor Tim Curry.

[BOTTOM: A poster of the hit musical “Hair” that debuted in the Shaftesbury Theatre in the West End, 1968.]

Her life completely changed overnight and she instantly became a PHENOMENON, attracting wide media attention. In fact, after the musical’s opening night, the editor of British Vogue sent her a huge bouquet of flowers and wanted her to pose for a photo session, which ended up being a 4-page spread with a written profile. Marsha was also the first Black woman to appear on the cover of Queen magazine as well.

[LEFT: Marsha pictured as the first Black woman on the cover of Queen magazine; RIGHT: Marsha photographed for British Vogue in 1969.]

She immediately became a sex symbol, celebrity, and the face of the “Black is Beautiful” movement, which was already taking over America in the mid-60s. This helped her snag lots of modeling gigs and everyone wanted to photograph her. (I mean, sis was booked & busy!!!)

[BOTTOM: More of Marsha’s most iconic shots. *The melanin was melanating, 4C afro was on deck, eyelashes poppin’, lips bussin’...she was a *bad bitch*!!!]

In March 1969, she signed a contract with Track Records, the same independent label that also repped the British rock band, The Who and Jimi Hendrix, as she later said, “There was one luxury that London celebrity afforded me: the freedom to be myself without a single apology for my gap, my freaked-out hair, my brown skin, my slave-class ancestors or my radical views.”

Around this time, she also had a short-lived love affair with Marc Bolan, the singer and founder of the English rock band, T-Rex (even though he was much shorter than her 😂.)

She scored a few minor hits during her underrated music career with singles like a cover of T-Rex’s “Desdemona” and her debut single, a cover of “Walk on Gilded Splinters”.

[BOTTOM: Marsha performing the T-Rex cover “Desdemona” live.]

The record soon went to the charts, and that spring, she was asked to perform on various shows, including a popular British TV program called, “Top of the Pops”. During her live performance on the show, the tight bolero suede top she wore nearly came undone and partially exposed her breasts, a wardrobe malfunction that gave her the reputation of a “bad girl.”

NOW…Here’s the part y’all have been waiting for. Get your popcorn. Y’all got it? Ready? Good!!! 🍿

After her performance aired, Marsha soon received a phone call out of the blue from Jo Bergman, the then secretary for The Rolling Stones on behalf of the band’s frontman Mick Jagger who was actually watching the show live, asking her to pose semi–nude for a publicity photoshoot to promote the band’s new single, “Honky Tonk Women”. She said, “The picture was going to be of a girl dressed like a sleaze bag standing in a bar with the Stones and they wanted me to be the girl.”

[BOTTOM: Marsha performing "Walk on Gilded Splinters” on ‘Top of the Pops’ in May 1969. This was also the exact moment Mick Jagger first laid eyes on her!]

dailymotion

Marsha, who was not a Stones fan, was already established and didn’t really need the extra exposure. She later declined because she had her reputation to think about and said she “didn't want to look like [she'd] just been had by all The Rolling Stones.” She also claimed, “The last thing [Black women] needed was for me to denigrate us by dressing up like a whore” among a band of white men.

ENTER MICK JAGGER:

When she tried to get in touch with Mick to say, “thank you, but no thank you”, he later returned her call in an attempt to change her mind and even suggested he come over as he was very intrigued that a girl would turn him down.

Mick then showed up at her apartment around midnight as she claims, “He was framed by the doorway as he stood grinning with a dark coat ... He drew one hand out of his pocket and pointed it at me like a pistol. His silly 'Bang' was precisely the icebreaker we needed to get over my ungracious hesitation before I invited him in, not sure how to salute a notorious rogue who rings me just before midnight and suggests he pop round on a pretext of loneliness.”

They talked for HOURS, well until the sun came up about any and everything from music to social issues and politics, and according to her, Mick “made me squeal whenever he used Melanigian slang (aka Black vernacular/AAVE).” 🙄🤦🏾‍♀️

Marsha didn’t really find Mick physically attractive at first, stating, “He wasn't beautiful or even striking” however, he was boyish, open, direct, yet seemed quite awkward and shy. She found it a relief that he was nothing like other musicians she’d known or the image the media had portrayed him. He was incredibly charming, intelligent, funny, radical, and straddled the racial line, much like she did. She also quickly noticed that he had a penchant for Black women, as he claimed “They [Black women] just do something to me”.

The two of them had a lot in common and just clicked right off the bat. And things eventually turned hot as they ended up having sex. From there, they embarked on a passionate, but very private, deep romance and year-long affair, at a time when interracial relationships weren’t widely accepted yet.

Marsha didn’t expect to hear from him again, as he had a wide selection of women to choose from, but surprisingly, Mick wanted to see her and talk all the time, mostly because she was great to look at and he could count on her. Marsha said, “He knew that I adored him and that he could depend on me…he realized I respected him as I respected myself.”

Mick’s friend and interior designer Christopher Gibbs once said often when he dined with Mick, women who had slept with him would come up to the table and “he’d have absolutely no idea who they were.”

[LEFT: Mick photographed at the Shaftesbury Theatre in London to see the new musical “Hair” for the first time; RIGHT: Marsha performing in the show.]

1969 was a very rough year for Mick. He was having trouble with his band The Rolling Stones (which he was practically running by himself) because the founder and guitarist, Brian Jones, was becoming increasingly unreliable and spiraling out of control due to his deep drug addiction and legal troubles that led to him having difficulty getting a US work visa to go on an upcoming tour. Mick’s personal life was also a mess because his long-term girlfriend at the time, pop singer Marianne Faithfull, was also a very serious (and sloppy) drug addict, who often embarrassed him and became more dependent and difficult to be around. Things had gotten so bad between them, their relationship grew to be strictly platonic by this time.

Mick and Marianne were quite destructive together and often found themselves in legal troubles due to drugs. Marianne was also quite messy as she previously slept with Mick’s bandmates Brian Jones, Keith Richards, and even left her husband, John Dunbar, for Mick who was dating Black soul singer and former Ikette, Pat “P.P.” Arnold, when they first met.

P.P. also later claimed in her autobiography “Soul Survivor” that the three of them would often engage in drug-fueled threesomes much to Mick’s delight.

[BELOW: Soul singer & former Ikette, P.P. Arnold, who dated Mick from 1966-1967.]

While in London, Mick was still messing with P.P. who later became pregnant with his baby in 1967, but they both agreed to have an abortion, partly due to his growing relationship with Marianne.

[BELOW: Mick arriving at a courthouse with his then girlfriend, singer Marianne Faithfull in 1969.]

Marsha on the other hand, was stone-cold sober and didn’t do any drugs (NOT ONE), which was like a breath of fresh air for Mick, though he dabbled with hashish, LSD, and marijuana among other drugs himself. But unlike those around him, he was able to control his habit.

Even though their relationship quickly turned sexual, they were really, really close friends. Mick often retreated to her home to relax, he told her all his secrets, his troubles – he just trusted her. He was completely enamored of Marsha, who many describe as warm, intelligent, sensitive, funny, and very easy to talk to. He liked that she didn’t go gooey-eyed and weak-kneed in his presence like most (white) women/female fans did. Instead she had a crisply forthright manner and was almost quite “butch”. The Rolling Stones then manager was even quoted as saying that Mick was “obsessed” with Marsha as she was very exotic, and he even gave her the nickname “Miss Fuzzy” due to her afro hairstyle.

Ironically, Marsha enjoyed their well-kept relationship and is one of the only people who often calls him Michael instead of Mick, to distinguish him from his Rolling Stones rockstar persona.

Since Marsha was a fellow recording artist, they were able to be seen together in public without any arousing suspicion—in any case, London still had almost no paparazzi. They would often go to the same parties or events, even with Mick’s girlfriend there, and no one questioned it.

Mick would often pop into some of Marsha’s studio sessions with her band White Trash, and everyone around would be in awe of him.

Later, after officially firing Brian Jones from the band, Mick and the rest of the Stones were in desperate need of a new guitarist. Marsha promptly suggested her good friend, Mick Taylor (Yes, Stones fans – thank Marsha Hunt for that one!), as a replacement for Brian just days before he was mysteriously found dead (he sadly drowned in a swimming pool at his home) on July 3, 1969.

Additionally, when Mick sought a replacement for Jo Bergman, the secretary who handled all The Rolling Stones affairs, Marsha also suggested her friend and tour manager, Peter Rudge - (The same guy responsible for getting the Stones all those huge tours in massive stadiums. Again, thank Marsha!)

Two days after Brian’s death, the Stones played a free concert before a crowd of over 250,000 people in Hyde Park, London, which was previously planned to debut their new guitarist, but turned into a memorial/funeral for Brian. Mick invited both Marianne (who looked a hot ass mess and was in withdrawal from heroin at the time), and Marsha (who showed up looking sexy af with her titties bustin’ out of her buckskin suit) to the concert, and rudely and distastefully opened the show with a song called, “I’m Yours and I’m Hers.”

[BELOW: Mick & Marsha at The Rolling Stones tribute concert to Brian Jones in Hyde Park, London on July 5, 1969.]

Marianne who sat on the other end of the stage with her 4-year old son Nicholas and the other Stones wives/girlfriends, actually saw Marsha that day as she was placed right above the stage in the scaffold VIP section at the request of Mick so that he could look at her while he performed. She later said, “I saw her [Marsha] you know. And she was stunning…If I’d been Mick in that situation, I might have done exactly the same thing.”

Mick arrived at the concert with Marianne that afternoon, but left with Marsha and spent the night at her place where they made love.

A day after the concert, Mick kissed Marsha goodbye, and flew with Marianne to Australia to shoot a biographical film they were both cast in called “Ned Kelly,” based on the infamous bushranger. However, Marianne who was reeling from the recent death of Brian Jones and a horrible miscarriage just a few months earlier, overdosed on 150 Tuinal barbiturates while traveling with Mick, and fell into a coma in their hotel room.

[LEFT & RIGHT: Mick & Marianne arriving in Australia to film “Ned Kelly.” Marianne slipped into a coma just hours later from an attempted suicide.]

At the last minute, Mick was forced to film the movie without her, but phoned and wrote to Marsha, who was extremely frantic and worried about his mental health and emotional well-being, almost everyday. She was scared that he didn’t have the stamina to deal with yet another crisis. He sent Marsha over 10 handwritten letters (some even written on the same headed stationery paper of Chevron Hotel where his girlfriend just tried to kill herself) about his deep feelings for her, his experience filming on set, being in the Australian outback, his new interests, the historic day of the moon landing of 1969, future career plans, his regret at missing her performance at the famous Isle of Wight Festival, and other aspects of pop culture (including “John & Yoko boring everybody…”). The letters also reference the recent death of his former bandmate Brian Jones, Mick’s increasingly difficult relationship with Marianne, and another letter even had the full original lyrics for The Rolling Stones song “Monkey Man”, which was later rewritten.

Mick’s letters also went on to mention the foul Australian winter weather and an unpleasant virus that swept through the film unit, a fire that destroyed most of the film’s costumes, along with various other accidents – including a prop gun that backfired in his right hand. He was just having a real shitty time. So, he found solace writing to Marsha.

His letters to Marsha showed how pensive and romantic he was. He said things like,“I feel with you something so unsung there is no need to sing it...” and “If I sailed with you around the world, all my sails would be unfurled.” He also thanked her for being “so nice to an evil old man like me”. And in another steamy note, Mick promises Marsha: "I will kiss you softly. And bite your mouth too."

[RIGHT & LEFT: Mick’s private letters sent to Marsha while filming “Ned Kelly” in Australia during the late summer of 1969.]

Mick also celebrated his 26th birthday while filming in Australia and Marsha sent him a huge package of books (which he loves) and albums, including her friend John Mayall’s record “Brown Sugar.” Along with his gifts was a note stating how she missed him desperately.

While still trying to rehabilitate his hand from the prop accident, Mick toyed with a new guitar he had and started work on a song he had in his head, which was partly inspired by Marsha and that he initially titled “Black Pussy.” He decided that name was a little too direct and changed it instead to “Brown Sugar” with the lyrics:

[Verse 1]

Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields Sold in the market down in New Orleans Scarred old slaver knows he's doing alright Hear him whip the women just around midnight

[Chorus]

Brown sugar, how come you taste so good? Uh huh Brown sugar, just like a young girl should

[BOTTOM: Recording of “Brown Sugar” by The Rolling Stones later released on their Sticky Fingers album in 1971.]

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Mick later confirmed in a 1995 Rolling Stone magazine interview that the song is a double-entendre: “brown sugar” being the street name for unrefined heroin and of course also meaning his seemingly equal addiction to having sex with Black women. The song was a huge commercial success and ended up becoming a huge #1 hit around the world, making it one of the Rolling Stones’ best-selling records to date.

[TOP: A movie poster of “Ned Kelly” which was released in June 1970; BOTTOM: Mick with his guitar composing “Brown Sugar” during filming.]

While Mick was still filming overseas, Marsha was booked to perform at the iconic 3-day outdoor concert, the Isle of Wight Festival on August 30th, 1969. At the time, it was the biggest open-air concert in music history and she was the only woman billed to perform. She was there alongside acts like The Who, Joe Cocker, and even Bob Dylan who hadn’t been onstage in three years.

Mick told her in a letter that he was so proud of her and promised her that he was “there in my head and in my heart.” Keith Richards, Charlie Watts and his wife Shirley, and Jo Bergman were also in the audience watching Marsha perform.

Marsha also made headline news as she wore custom-made leather shorts to which the press ran with and by the next fashion season, short shorts were featured in every fashion magazine. She was the first person to popularize “hot pants”.

[BELOW: Marsha performing with her band White Trash at the Isle of Wight Festival in 1969 with members of The Rolling Stones looking on in the audience.]

After Mick came back from Australia, Marsha was offered a part in a film called “Welcome to the Club” which is a comedy about three Black USO performers sent to Hiroshima in the 1940s to entertain the troops on an all-white base. The film was being directed by Walter Shenson, who had produced The Beatles' films “A Hard Day's Night” and “Help” and shot it entirely in Copenhagen, Denmark.

She was also asked to fly back to London to shoot another cover for American Vogue which was shot by photographer Patrick Litchfield. (They‘d never had a Black woman on the cover before.)

Mick began touring in America again, his first since 1966, and with the number of girls he had access to, she knew he was keeping himself busy on and off stage.

[LEFT: Mick on stage at Madison Square Garden during the Stones’ 1969 tour; RIGHT: Marsha filming “Welcome to the Club”.]

He even started a short-lived relationship with yet another Black singer and Ikette Claudia Lennear, as well sparking up a fling with Devon Wilson, a notorious rock & roll groupie and the girlfriend of Jimi Hendrix who famously wrote the song “Dolly Dagger” about their affair.

[LEFT: Mick arriving at Madison Square Garden in November 1969 with Devon Wilson; RIGHT: Mick backstage at the same event with singer Claudia Lennear.]

But on December 6, 1969 - everything changed dramatically when an 18-year old concertgoer was stabbed and killed during the Stones’ free concert at the Altamont Speedway in California by the Hell’s Angels Motorcycle Club, who was the band’s security. Members of the Hell’s Angels blamed Mick for the incident and subsequent to the concert, put a hit out on him and threatened to murder him. This marked the third major tragedy to happen since Mick and Marsha met each other.

[BELOW: A scared Mick looks on as 18-year old Meredith Hunter is stabbed to death by the Hell’s Angels in front of the stage while the Stones performed at Altamont Speedway.]

Marsha stayed with Mick after the chaos at Altamont, which the media dubbed “The Death of the ‘60s”. By this time, he had officially split up with Marianne and moved Marsha into his house on Cheyne Walk where she helped him to transition and readjust his life. It was then their relationship intensified!

This is around the time she got a chance to know some of Mick’s friends who lived on the same road, including Keith Richards and his girlfriend, actress Anita Pallenberg, who just had a son, but was hooked on heroin. She thought they were both nice, but they’d visit or show up unannounced to their home all the time. Their hard drug-taking also scared Marsha, so she kept her distance and didn’t voice her opinion.

She also met Mick’s parents, Eva and Joe Jagger, along with his little brother Chris who was a bit of a hippie and had just returned from India with his American girlfriend. They both had no work, no money, and nowhere to stay, so Marsha kindly gave them a job, one included painting her new apartment.

That Christmas, Marsha got Mick a puppy and Mick, for the first time, told her that he loved her.

Marsha was in a good place. Opportunities were coming to her fast, she had a new apartment, and she was in love with Mick. She had newfound stability and independence.

In January 1970, they were having dinner at the celebrity hotspot restaurant Mr. Chow’s when Mick said that she’d be a good mother and that they should have a baby together. Prior to this Marsha thought she was just another girl he fancied, as he was a notorious womanizer. But the talk of having a baby made her feel special to him. Her feelings for him were so deep that she also claimed, “I would have died for him.”

She knew Marianne miscarried around the same time Keith Richards’ son Marlon was born. Mick also missed family life with Marianne’s son Nicholas, so wanted to give having a baby a second try.

This fool literally made Marsha take out her birth control and IUD coil, they proceeded to have sex like rabbits, and when she found out she was 3 weeks pregnant, she told Mick who was ecstatic.

Marsha literally said to him, “Listen, if you’re not ready and you changed your mind about this, it’s okay.” She was totally ready to get an abortion. But he assured her that it was what he wanted and he was happy.

They had their first argument when it came time to naming their baby. Mick wanted a boy who he could send to the prestigious Eton School (the all-boys school where Prince William & Prince Harry attended), and he proposed that they call the baby ‘Midnight Dream’. Marsha wasn’t having it and even said, “Imagine sticking your head out of a window to call your child home and yelling, 'Midnight. Midnight! Time for tea.’”

She'd known that he and the band were leaving England for tax reasons and moving to France in the coming year. The Stones were also gearing up for their upcoming European tour.

Even though she loved Mick, he was young and she claimed she was “all for Mick doing his own thing”. They were supposed to be the sophisticated embodiment of an alternative social ideal — parent-hood shared between loving friends living separate lives.

This was around the time of the sexual revolution and people were exploring different types of relationships. Marsha didn’t find gratification in being “Mr. So and So’s” wife, plus Mick wasn’t the marriage type either. He was the type of guy to get up at 2pm to start his day - so marriage was sort of off the table. Though, unbeknownst to Marsha, Mick has thought of proposing, she claimed their relationship “thrived off her being supportive” and she loved to see him “run free”. And since she grew up in a matriarchy, the ideal of a man and woman living together seemed nice but unnecessary. They agreed that Mick would be a good absent father while he made his music and toured with The Rolling Stones, and Marsha could still have her own life and career. It was all very modern!

Marsha also feared that her association with Mick would crowd out her own identity. She didn’t like the limelight because it was a discomfort. She also never wanted to be known as Mick Jagger's girlfriend (can you blame her? So many of his girlfriends tried to commit suicide). Like him, she wanted her own independence.

By June 1969, Marsha told her band and the press that she was pregnant, but did not give up the name of her baby’s father. However, one little clever ass reporter actually found out it was Mick Jagger and threatened to print it. She thought of suing but asked the Stones PR team to link him to another girl. She managed to get through her pregnancy without a media frenzy or being linked to Mick even though they had stepped out together many times, and he was ready to have it reported.

While Mick was away touring in Europe, his phone calls got less frequent. The tour was a bit crazy, and although Mick invited her to go to Paris, he knew she'd refuse – she didn’t want to get caught up. But he told her he was lonely and had met someone in Paris that he was taking to Italy. Her name was Bianca. She was Nicaraguan and spoke little English. Mick didn't mention her again, but after the tour, Marsha knew that she had moved to his house in England.

His publicist sent her an invite to the premiere of his corny movie, “Ned Kelly,” but he didn’t show up. He also invited his parents to the event and it was there she realized that the bastard didn’t tell them that he had a baby on the way. Mick hardly lavished praise on his parents and even once told the press, “I owe them nothing. They are my parents, that is that…but there are no dues to be made by me to them!”

By her third trimester, having a baby became her whole reality and his passing fancy. He started to forget that the baby was HIS idea.

Despite Marsha carrying his child, practically all references to her and the baby were quickly airbrushed out of his life. Chris O'Dell, Mick’s PA in the early ‘70s was even quoted as saying, “I never remember him talking about their child. In fact, I wasn’t aware of a baby being around at all. It was almost like [his first child] didn’t exist.”

Marsha was put in a difficult position because it was too late to go back and sometimes he’d phone her like nothing ever happened. She claimed his mood would change so quickly, he was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. She also said, “I've discovered that he can burn hot and suddenly cool to below zero.”

She started to worry that he didn’t care anymore, so, she tried to squeeze in any and every piece of work she possibly could to hold her up during and after her pregnancy (tv shows, photoshoots, etc.). She also volunteered at a local mental-care center in the autistic unit caring for a 12 year old boy to keep from feeling useless.

[BELOW: A heavily pregnant Marsha performing in late 1970.]

At the same time, Mick also did a lot of peculiar interviews, either stating he wasn’t interested in having children or flat out dissing Marsha. During a 1970 interview with London’s Daily Mail newspaper he even said, “For me, life has always got to be on the move and exciting. I love kids, I really do…but it’s not something I’m thinking about.” He of course failed to mention that Marsha was expecting their first child.

[BELOW: Mick during an interview referencing Marsha & his unborn child in 1970.]

Once it was time for her to give birth, a hard-up Marsha was ashamed and reluctant to ask him for any contribution because he never once offered. Mick ultimately gave her a measly £200 to get by, which came with a note saying “I know I haven’t done right by you” and he also “loaned” her a ring he always wore.

She had initially planned a natural home delivery to keep the press at bay and because it was the “it” thing to do at the time, but was told by her OB-GYN that her baby was in danger and that she had to go to the hospital the next day.

On November 3rd, she dragged her own luggage and hailed a taxi to the hospital only to be told there weren’t enough beds. Panicked and scared, she went back home quite sure she was going to die from an unassisted childbirth.

When she went back to the hospital the next day for an induced labor, she checked in with her married name “Ratledge” to protect herself (and Mick). On November 4, 1970 after hours of labor, she gave birth to a girl she named Karis and phoned Mick first and then her mother. That day was the first time Mick actually told his now girlfriend, Bianca, that Marsha and his baby existed.

While waiting in the maternity ward, the nurses also forgot to feed Marsha who was so hungry. But being on The National Health, she didn’t complain.

When she checked out of the hospital, Mick sent a bouquet of red roses, a miniature muse figurine for the baby, a silver spoon, and some cheap Indian earrings for Marsha. He “dropped by” two days later to see his baby but was in a hurry to be somewhere else.

10 days later, he paid another rushed visit, but she eventually took him to the side because she wasn’t in the mood to entertain his detachment. And she was kinda like, “Hey! What’s up with you? Why don’t you call or come around more often for the baby” trying to get some genuine reaction out of him instead of keeping her at bay with the polite chitchat bullshit, in which he snapped and yelled at her, “I never loved you” and told her that she was “mad to think that he had”. Of course Marsha, hormonal, stitches still in, burning and all, did not expect for him to stab back and immediately started to cry, which only made him more angry. The piece of shit even had the audacity to threaten to take her newborn baby away from her if he chose. She stopped and in a stern voice said, “Try it! I’d blow your brains out!!”

In that moment, the loyalty she had for him was gone. She had no choice but to push forward and tried to find as much work as she could to support herself and her baby.

[BELOW: Marsha & Mick after the birth of their first child Karis Hunt in late 1970.]

READ ‘PART 2’ HERE!!! ☕️☕️☕️

#marsha hunt #mick jagger #the rolling stones #brown sugar #rolling stones #interracial couple #black women #karis jagger #music #history #rock history #rock & roll #musicians #thread #gossip #old school tea #1960s #1970s #sbrown82

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davidtennantgenderenvy · 15 days

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As i approach the end of finals week, I’m taking a moment to reflect on all of the absolutely CRAZY things that have happened during my roller coaster of a sophomore year of college!

This is of course, going to go down in the history books as The David Tennant year. What started as a silly little reawakened special interest in my favorite actor has somehow opened doors for me that I never could have imagined. Writing a two hour video essay about this man is NOT how I thought I’d be spending last semester, but not only did it become one of the proudest creative projects of my entire life and connected me with so many amazing internet buddies, but it was also invaluable in helping me come to terms with my queerness and come out to my friends and family. Thanks to a silly little short about David’s BAFTA outfit, he KNOWS I EXIST NOW, which is still so wild. And finally, he inspired me to write my most ambitious piece of music to date, my 8 month labor of love Crowley’s Lament, which put to the test basically everything I’ve learned about music and performing and has been received so beautifully by you guys.

This year wasn’t all about him, though! I finally got to make my collegiate stage debut in my first opera, and Iolanthe ended up being the dream role I never knew I needed- an endearing and inspiring character that was such a fulfilling challenge for an actor and singer to play. I learned loads of challenging classical, musical theatre, and pop rock music this year, listened to a ton of new albums (Will Wood might be one of the most incredible musical discoveries of my life?), and learned a ton about music theory and history. One of my favorite classes this year was Film and TV music analysis, and I got to apply my knowledge by composing the score for one of my Discord mutuals’ short films! I turned 20 and on the same day got to perform in an original musical for my friend’s composition recital. I took part in my first ever crew assignment, had two of my pieces performed at Project 21 concerts (one with a full band!), and my original Fullmetal Alchemist song Even Into Hell was choreographed for a collaboration with the school of dance, which brought my piece to such gorgeous emotional life.

I’ve gotten closer to friends old and new, and just when I’d accepted that romance probably wasn’t in the cards for me any time soon, I met (well, started DM-ing), the most amazing person through the most unexpected set of circumstances (that honestly deserves its own video sometime in the future). My brilliant internet friend-turned-parter Merlin @elsinore-and-inverness has brought so much light and joy into my life, and I can honestly say I’m the happiest I’ve been in years.

Next stop, THE UK!!! I’m not only studying abroad on a once in a lifetime Shakespeare trip, seeing loads of West End shows AND performing at the Edinburgh Fringe, but I also get to meet my favorite London boy in person :)))) could NOT be more excited

#personal #david tennant #good omens #shakespeare #musical theatre #Opera #iolanthe

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cookinguptales · 8 months

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I got both my flu and covid shot yesterday so today I'm feeling. bad. lmao. But I also saw two movies and had fun at them both!

I'll make posts about both of them, but I guess I'll start with A Haunting in Venice because I have more thoughts about it, I think.

My non-spoilery thoughts are that I actually enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would! The ambiance was impeccable and I think I'd watch it again just to look at it. It was very pleasantly spooky, more than I'd expected, and despite not having watched the other films, I was able to easily follow along. A lot of the acting was super fun, and Michelle Yeoh was really hot, and it was a spooky ghost story! What more could you want?

(Except subtitles, I guess, because I missed a lot of dialogue. Much more than I usually do. Kenneth Branagh's fake French accent was particularly difficult to decipher.)

Two personal things, which I thought were funny. The children's song heard repeatedly in the movie, Giro Giro Tondo, creeped me out specifically because my mother gave me a doll when I was little that she'd gotten in Italy during a business trip, and when you held its hands it sang that song. I... have a bit of a doll phobia, so I did have a moment of OH NO, IT'S THIS BITCH.

The other is that I was able to figure out the mystery very quickly because of my own special interests, which was very funny to me. I'm sorry that I am too much the target audience for this movie. ;; More on that in a minute.

spoilers below the cut

It was interesting to hear after watching the movie that the original book took place in the UK because the central spookiness of the film did feel very Italian. The old ruined palazzo, the ruinous aftereffects of the Holocaust in Central Europe, the general Vibe. But most of the main characters aren't Italian, so I suppose it makes sense...

It was definitely much darker than I had expected it to be, from a human cruelty standpoint. The allusions to the Holocaust (both when discussing Dr. Ferrier's severe PTSD after liberating Bergen-Belsen and the Romani siblings who were orphaned and forced into very dire straits to survive) were very frank and graphically discussed, which isn't something you actually see in films as often these days, and the fact that impoverished orphan children really were purposefully murdered during the plague had... very familiar vibes after being from a high-risk (and easily dismissed) group during covid.

In the end, the movie ended up being as much about metaphorical ghosts as literal ones, and I can see how a writer struggling with her wartime experiences as a nurse would end up writing a story that so blatantly grapples with the soul of humanity -- and whether it's worth protecting. The medium comparing hearing the ghosts screaming to her time as a nurse during the war treating the suffering... It does make me think about Christie's own experiences, y'know? I haven't read the book, so idk how much of it was invented for the movie, but... it did make me think about her.

As for the mystery itself... I guess there are two things to know about me. One is that I studied mithridatism (and Mithridates himself) when writing fic for Arsenic and Old Lace for YT many years ago. The other is that I wrote an original f/f fic about poisonous beekeeping around the same period. It wasn't my best work, necessarily, but I'll tell you -- I know a lot about mad honey.

So let's just say that the suspense wasn't quite as suspenseful for me lmao. From the second that one woman say "Mithridates" I was pretty ready for what was coming next, and when I saw that she kept bees and everyone kept eating honey... I mean. lmao

That said, the fact that it was very difficult to tell whether the ghostly apparitions were hallucinations or real or some combination of the two was really fun and interesting.

With Christie's Thing for poisons... I guess it's interesting how much fo the movie was about food and hunger and how food can kill you if it's not the right kind -- and how love could go the same way. The discussion of the camp survivors in Germany dying after being given milk, the children being intentionally walled up and starved to death, the siblings eating "non-food", like mice, in order to survive after being orphaned during the war... And obviously the poisoned tea from a mother whose love itself had been poisoned.

And then, y'know, the metaphor flourishing when you see how love itself, twisted into madness, was the reason why so many people had suffered and died. Rowena's fear that her daughter would leave her, Alicia's agony that her fiancé had, Olga accidentally poisoning a child she loved because she was trying to soothe her, Ferrier accidentally poisoning the concentration camp survivors when trying to nurse them back to health, Leopold's desperate attempts to protect and support his father being the exact thing that got him killed...

I'm a little too tired to pull it together into a coherent thesis statement, but... The themes are layered here. Hunger for food and for love and for companionship. Poison being added to the things you think will nourish you and those you love. The desire to be seen, by those you love and those you respect and those who you fear have forgotten you...

You have Ariadne (great name for a spinner of mysteries, btw) using a friend in order to get back her adoring public. Both Maxim and Alicia desperate for the other's attention. Poor little Leo trying to soothe his father's PTSD and being parentified at far too young an age, but desperate to be seen for the marvel he is all at once.

And Alicia's ghost, obviously, reaching out to those she'd known in life and trying to get revenge on those who'd harmed her. She wanted to be seen, too, and she wanted to be understood.

I suppose that's what the whole movie comes down to. Love and understanding and the way it can be twisted horribly even as we crave it.

The movie wasn't perfect and I suspect the subject matter will be far too dark for people expecting something like Knives Out, but I did enjoy it far more than I thought it would. The vibes were genuinely very creepy and the mystery and characters were interesting. I haven't read the book, so I can't tell you how it stacks up there.

I think, sorry Kenneth Branagh, that his casting as Poirot was probably the weakest part of the movie for me. That said, the directing was so good that I at times found myself like "sir?? why not just direct these movies and let someone else play the lead????"

(see: the lin-manuel miranda effect)

But a lot of the other acting was very good, especially Michelle Yeoh who was very hot and very interesting in her role. Boy, I was SO sad when she was the first to die because I was like "OH NO, SHE WAS SO HOT..."

/shallow

Anyway, tl;dr it was a good movie for the spooky season, even if I suspect some of the subject matter will be difficult for people to handle. (Particularly the child death.) And even if you don't enjoy the writing, the footage of Venice and the overall vibes are impeccable so you can just turn off your brain and enjoy wandering through a spooky ruined palazzo.

#a haunting in venice

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